


The Search

by cyncitymojo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Repressed Winchesters (Supernatural), Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01, Soul Bond, Wincest Reverse Bang, canon adjacent, finding each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyncitymojo/pseuds/cyncitymojo
Summary: What they don’t yet realize is, this is more than just a search for their father. This is a search for the bond they each think they lost 4 years ago...





	1. What are You Searching For?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for art also titled "The Search" by small-scale-majestic. Please go see her work [here](https://small-scale-majestic.tumblr.com/post/185920800887/a-story-written-for-the-2019-wincest) and give her lots of love because she's awesome and she worked amazingly hard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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It was one of those nights, too low on cash, too hot to sleep in the car. One of those nights that reminded Sam just how far from normal his and his brother’s childhoods were. When pounds of salt create safer barriers than doors and windows from the things you fear, then there’s really no hope of normal.

They found this abandoned house via another uncommon trick that only their hunter lifestyle would have taught them. There was a symbol on an old utility post where the country road met a private drive. It kind of reminded Sam of those symbols he learned about in high school history when studying the underground railroad. Any normal person may mistake this for an old railway symbol, but it had just enough modification for hunters of the supernatural to recognize it.

“Hey, Dean, check that out. It looks like the symbol for safety, but it’s got a diagonal arrow going through it. That is the symbol for hunt. There might be a safe house near here.” Dean looked at his little brother with impressed pride and turned the Impala onto the overgrown drive. As much as he felt guilty for dragging his little brother back into this life, he was all the more grateful to see that Sam retained so much of their training.

The boys weren’t lucky enough to happen upon one of those safe houses with utilities this time. This was one of those hunter’s “retreats” with the perks of appearing completely rundown and abandoned, but instead was hiding a small fortress. It was fully stocked with protective wards against demons and weapons caches in every room.

The one drawback to the place being so inconspicuous was the lack of electricity. There were rations of dehydrated foods like jerky and canned goods, and running water, but no hot water heater. They’d be researching the lore by candlelight tonight.

 

 

How many times had Sammy studied for exams, read novels, wrote book reports, even created little science dioramas by the ambient light of a candle or by Dean’s lighter? When he went to Stanford, there were times he’d caught himself reading in the dark, or Jess would just silently turn on a lamp for him. She never asked why the poor scholarship kid treated utilities as if they were endangered species.

And now, she was gone, taken by fire like their mother. Sam had never truly been able to relate to how Dean or even their father felt about Mary’s death until he had a front-row seat to the reboot version. Next to his own fresh, raw, and painful itch for vengeance was his newfound compassion and understanding of the need that Dean had to cling to everything he had left.

When “Dad went on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home…” first left his brother’s lips, seemingly an entire lifetime ago, Sam acted as though he could care less. In actuality, those words burrowed deep into his marrow. It had more to do with the way Dean sounded than what he’d said. His older brother, hero, protector, the man who’d been both mother and father by proxy, looked every bit the lost four-year-old child at that moment.

Sam gradually lost focus on his research as he recalled the way green eyes pleaded to not be put out on his ass and made to deal with this alone. Dean had known for so long how much Sam wanted to put the hunting life and the things that go bump in the night as far behind him as he could. He knew he’d been selfish in wanting that, even with wanting Dean to leave Dad to go with him. He’d figured the least he could do was honor Dean and keep up with everything his big brother had taught him. Now, all they had was each other and, hopefully, their father. He didn’t even know if Dad would want to see his outcast son.

John Winchester wouldn’t have to worry about being disappointed in him anymore. There was no way he’d be going back to law school, even if he and Dean found the man. If he were truly honest with himself, he never felt like he fit there no matter how badly he thought he wanted to. After everything he’d seen in his life before and after Stanford, though he struggled to believe it, he was beginning to feel like there was no escape from it.

Dad was leading them from place to place, and at first, Sam had hope that the next place would be where they’d find him. Now, as they squatted in this house full of broken windows, with its door hanging by a single hinge, he was starting to wonder if they’d ever be reunited. It’s been six or seven months and they still had no clue where he was.

The thing that was really grinding his nerves was the fact that John never seemed to want to be found. The one precious time Sam finally heard his voice over the phone, John told them to stop looking for him. He gave them the Pagan Scarecrow case instead. Cases, one after another that just kept getting them no closer to Dad, nor the demon that ruined their family in the first place.

Dean watched as Sam, stretched out on top of a sleeping bag, studied the huge reference book from the library they’d visited earlier that day. He saw the moment his focus waned, and his giant, genius mind was no longer on the case they stumbled upon while searching for Dad. He let him go for a bit, thinking Sam had to sense that he was being watched. He wasn’t much of a talk-it-out type, but it seemed like Sammy was really working through something. “I can feel you thinking from here, Poindexter. I can tell it’s not about the case, and it’s even starting to hurt _my_ head. Are we gonna have to talk about this?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, naw I’m fine. I just… it’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Guess my brain is just kinda tired.”

“Look, Sammy, I know the last few months have been tough, all right? I know you’re itchin’ to find Dad. So am I, but right now, we got crap for clues alright? We can’t just sit around with our thumbs—”

“It’s not just that, Dean. I mean… we’ve already been through all that. All this time and he just says stop? He doesn’t want our help. He just wants us to pick up where he left off while he goes on his suicide mission? He has to know that if I’m here with you then I just gave up everyth—” He snapped his mouth shut so fast, Dean heard the impact of his teeth and cringed before his face closed off. Sam knew he just opened Pandora’s box.

Dean knew what Sam stopped himself from saying, but now the old wound was reopened and if they weren’t gonna work, then what better to do than let off some well-contained steam?

“Go ahead, Sammy. You have the floor; tell the class how you really feel. College boy missing his cushy, normal life. So now you wanna act like you didn’t choose to take up arms in this race? You and I both know how bad you are at following orders, Sam. No one put your ass here but you!

“I just love how you wanna blame yourself for every fucked up supernatural thing that we’ve come across, but the one solid thing you don’t wanna cop to is the choices you make,” continued Dean, close to yelling and not giving a damn about what they attracted to their little shelter. He was hurt, but Sam would never hear that truth. Not after the day he left his family behind; the day he left Dean behind.

Sam was fuming, stewing. He knew that he was wrong for lashing out. At the same time, he felt so confused and frustrated, and now it was all turned inward. Dean had no clue how much Sam blamed himself for fracturing their brotherly bond. He’d wanted so badly to make Dean feel better about his choice to try a life without guns and constant moving, without petty crime and fraud. There was no way to justify something like that to someone who thought that was all there was to his life, and he was making the best of it that he could. Sam also had wanted to try to leave his less than platonic feelings about Dean behind. There was _**no**_ way to even bring that shit up.

Finally, Sam blew out the breath he’d been holding. “I never said anyone _**made me**_ do anything. I’m not even mad about leaving school anymore Dean. I am sick of feeling the way I do about everything. I am _**so**_ angry, and yeah, it _**is**_ at myself. You keep telling me that Jess’ death wasn’t on me, but I can’t just turn off feeling like it is.

“The weird shit that is happening with me right now, the way you look at me each and every time it happens, you think I don’t catch it, but I do,” he said, looking away to hide the tears forming in his eyes. “And yet, you won’t tell me a goddamned thing that is on your mind. And because I know you’re not ‘mister share and care,’ I just let it go. But then you have to know every little thing that is going on with me.

“You know what? You’re the only person who can look at me that way and make me feel like a complete freak. Why do you even keep me around? Am I just a sorry replacement for Dad, or is this your way of making sure I don’t turn into some kind of thing you’d hunt?”

At this point, Sam had given up on hiding his face. He was fully into the ‘ugly cry’ and his pain, snotty nose, and puppy eyes were just too much for Dean. Big Brother suddenly forgot all the things that had pissed him off and his sole focus was on stopping Sammy’s tears. Anyone else, and his flight or fight reflex would have kicked in. He’d have been at a dive bar, numbing his nerves with whatever was cheapest.

“Damnit, Sam,” he grumbled as he reached toward his brother, cleaning his face with the bottom of his shirt, “you’re a grown ass man. Ugh.” He took the shirt off and handed it over, knowing that there was no saving it at this point. The night was warm enough he didn’t need it anyway.

“C’mon, you gotta know that I don’t see you that way,” he said, rolling his eyes at the chick flick moment he could only blame himself for starting. “It’s just… it’s my job to look out for my snot-nosed little brother, man. Has been since forever. You don’t look like it right about now, but honestly Sammy, I realized recently that you grew up. You can handle yourself. You don’t need me. I watch you from a distance because I know that now. But it’s hard letting go.”

Sam was suddenly exhausted after he’d cleaned off his face. Even he hadn’t known how much this was consuming him. He scooted closer to Dean and laid his head on his brother’s leg. He tried to listen to what Dean was saying, but he’d just let everything that was bubbling under the surface burst through. As soon as he’d heard Dean say he could handle himself, the rest turned into a deep lullaby.

“I know I’m not much for words, but if you were as observant as you think, you would see the real way I look at you.” What Dean knew deep down was what Sam was seeing when Dean looked at him was his disgust in himself.

 

*****

 

Since the boys reunited a little over six months ago, Dean had begun to face some harsh truths about himself. The moment he’d seen Sam, taller than ever, more broad-shouldered and surer of himself, Dean had been freaking out about certain things he’d noticed. Sammy was no longer the coltish teen he was when he’d left.

At first, Dean attributed the awkward magnetism toward his little brother as having been absent from each other’s lives for the past four years. The occasional sneaky look-in on Sam had been all he’d allowed himself since the young man had left for a simpler life.

As the weeks passed, however, Dean began to notice that he was not just gazing at Sam because he missed him. Hell, most of the time lately they were at each other’s throats nearly as much as Sammy and John used to be. And yet, each time Dean considered trying to get Sam to go and re-establish his life and college career, the thought would terrify him. The journey he and Sam were on to find their father was becoming something deeper.

Case after case, the boys had worked tirelessly with the lingering hope that each one they went into, they would find their father. With each disappointment, that hope had slowly dwindled. Other issues had become much more noticeable, though. Sam had been growing increasingly tense; Dean had progressively tried to lighten his mood which had seemed to exacerbate the tension.

During each of their hunts, when they ended in disappointment from John not being there, things reached a boiling point yet again. When John finally did happen to show up, it had seemed he was going to let his sons join him. Then, they’d been attacked by shadow demons and Dean realized, things were much more complicated than they seemed. They’d had to let him go once more.

They’d spent that night in defeated, irritated silence patching their wounds. Only a small portion of that mood was due to their disagreement over having John walk away from them after just reuniting with him. The rest was due to their stubborn refusal to address the aching need engulfing each of them.

One hunt had taken their silence and avoidance of their longing for each other to an awkward level. Dean kept pushing Sam toward women and going out of his way to chase as many skirts as possible himself. Even though Sam had stressed that he was capable of finding his own dates, he certainly hadn’t been trying.

Dean had initially been agitated by his brother’s hesitation although he’d tried to sympathize due to Sam losing Jess the way their dad had lost their mother. But when Sam had become the target of their ‘mark,’ and his not wanting to get involved with the girl went further than just feeling bad for using her for the case, Dean had to press for answers.

“Ever since we got here you’ve been trying to pimp me out,” Sam had said. Dean could have sworn he’d heard pain behind that accusing tone. When he remembered that discussion, he also remembered how annoyed Sam was when he’d been out all night at the beginning of the case.

“What do you care if I hook up anyway?”

Dean had tried to diffuse the situation with a joke about how grumpy Sam had been, but then he took the extra effort and made a serious appeal to his brother. “Wouldn’t Jess have wanted you to be happy, or at least have fun once in a while?”

When Sam had looked into his eyes and said part of it was about Jessica, but not the main part, Dean had tried to probe further. He couldn’t help the hopeful look on his face for a second but trained his features so that Sam wouldn’t see and discover his truth.

Sam had averted his eyes and effectively cut the give-and-take session short. He’d been dreading Dean demanding anything further; he’d been so torn between wanting to be honest and not wanting his brother to hate him. Dean grudgingly let the abrupt halt in communication slide, again.

The problem was, Dean could never tell his brother everything either. First, if he thought a few nightmares and the sudden ‘shining’ he’d developed out of nowhere made him a freak, imagine what he’d think of a brother who had romantic feelings for him. Sammy had never even seen Dean with guys before. Second, after everything that had happened with Jess, there was no way Dean would be so selfish as to complicate that even more.

He wanted his brother with him, even if it meant they were just family to each other. He could be that, for Sammy.

 

*****

 

Dean thought he could be a normal pestering, bossy older brother. He thought as soon as they’d found Dad again things would be all right. They would get back into a routine and be a solid family team again while they hunted for the demon that killed their chances for some semblance of normalcy. He should have known that was impossible.

Sam was prepared to make hunting his life until they found that demon and ended it. He figured after they’d saved their father from the evil holding him captive, they could hit the road and begin the final fight. But as soon as the odds were tipping in their favor, that is when they nearly lost everything.

Dean was crashing on a hospital bed while Sam and John were helpless to stop it. Sam had been trying everything he could think of to get Dean’s soul back into his body. He could sense his big brother trying to hang on, clinging to Sam’s soul like an anchor. Then John ran off without explanation, Dean miraculously came back, and Sam was once again lost in a maze of how and why.

Then, without cause or explanation, John was gone. The final fight would be going down without him. Sam missed his father, but he couldn’t get over what he would have lost if John hadn’t obviously traded his life and their leverage for it. After coming this close to Dean dying for the second time, there was no way Sam would waste any more time letting anything keep him from Dean now.

Dean hid how frantic he truly was about John’s passing. He had barely been keeping it together when John was alive. Now, he felt the full burden of their mission on his shoulders and for the first time in his life, he had nothing to guide him. He and Sam had no secret weapon against their enemy and things were more dangerous than they’d ever been before. He stopped caring about things that seemed trivial.

It left him open to obsess over things that he’d been repressing.

 


	2. Right Here All Along

 

It had been a few weeks since their last case when Sam had let an emotional dam burst one sweltering summer night. It had been less than that since their father was taken from them. Time was flying and it seemed to Sam that all he and Dean were doing was standing still just out of reach of each other.

He wanted to push for a hunt to keep Dean from going stir crazy and to keep himself from doing something ridiculously impulsive. He knew they were far from ready, but it wasn’t like he could just take Dean out for a relaxing drive in the countryside to avoid cabin fever. Dean may not have been willing to talk about anything, but Sam knew his big brother was stuck in his own mind.

So, he waited a couple more weeks, gave Dean the space he needed, and then he had Bobby find them something simple. At least it was simple on paper.

They were easily able to find the old Civil War General’s history. He happened to be a ‘real tried and true patriot’ who gave no mercy to deserters. When he’d killed more men in his own battalion than from the opposition, he’d been court-martialed and executed for treason. They even figured out where his gravestone had been placed. But they discovered that no one had dealt with his ‘possessions’ and he hadn’t actually been buried there. He’d kept a souvenir from each of his soldiers that he murdered.

It was those soldiers who had been trapped and not allowed to move on to find peace. They were now attacking Sam and Dean in the cemetery as they were leaving the empty gravesite. The brothers arrived in the middle of the night, thinking that there would only be the General to handle and they would be less visible then. Fending off an entire group at night was a death wish.

Dean dodged a rusty shovel that had been lying against an old garden shed. It flew through the air like a spear and lodged into an ancient-looking, moss-covered willow tree. “Some ‘simple salt-n-burn’ you found us, Sammy! Since when does one ghost end up with an army?!”

Sam was alternating between the rock salt shotgun and an iron crowbar. “This is the last time I _ask_ Bobby for a damn case just to keep you from getting antsy!” he said, grunting with the effort.

The agitated spirits seemed to get even more riled up the closer the two got to the documented location of the General’s headstone. It made no sense, though, for these vengeful spirits to be protecting the man who murdered them in self-righteous, cold-blooded anger. They were going to have to fall back, regroup, and find more information.

Before they could leave, Sam quickly thought up an idea. “Dean! Get the salt we brought and make a perimeter behind me! Hurry!” He’d been keeping the spirits at bay a good five to seven feet from the headstone. He was hoping that when they came back, they’d have a bit of protection.

Dean laid the salt, completing the line just as he saw Sam fly backward. His younger brother landed just at the base of the willow tree where the shovel was firmly wedged. Then the ghostly soldiers suddenly stopped fighting. They weren’t even trying to get past the salt line.

“Sammy, you good over there?” asked Dean, keeping his peripheral on the group of manifested uniforms.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m ok. That was unexpected. I think they want us here.”

“Gee ya think? No shit, Sherlock. If we’re stuck here, we become the new recruits!”

“No, listen all right? I heard something. Before I got launched, I heard someone faintly say ‘Dig… Free’. I’m not sure they meant to hurt us, Dean.”

“Leave it to Casper to get his point across by trying to decapitate me. Are you sure?’ he asked, exasperated.

“Well, they’ve all stopped. Look, they’re just standing there, not even trying anything now,” said Sam as he worked the shovel out of the tree bark.

“Alright Jennifer Love Hewitt, go for it.”

Rolling his eyes after a supreme bitchface, Sam began to dig directly under the area where the shovel impacted the tree. It didn’t take him very long to hit the cover of a metal lockbox.

“Oh man, what’s in the box, what’s in the box?!”

Sam stared. “Dean. Stop.” He knew his big brother was just trying to calm their nerves since there was a literal army between them and the car, but now was not the time to bring up creepy 90’s movies about creepier serial killers.

Dean let out a put-upon sigh. “Yeah, OK. Let’s get this show on the road. We still have a crazy-ass General to find and light up.”

They broke the lock on the box and cringed at the various human remains that were mummifying inside. They salted them, added accelerant, and torched everything that would burn. The ghastly uniforms began to glow, and the group of men was illuminated long enough to wave and nod their thanks before they faded into the coming sunrise.

 

*****

 

The brothers had to dig through tons of historical documents to find out what had been done to the General’s remains. They learned that the headstone had only been placed as a marker out of respect for the soldiers. No one had been able to find exactly where the General had hidden his lockbox, and he’d refused to tell. 

The General had been discreetly cremated, courtesy of the only family member who hadn’t wanted anything happening to the man’s body in revenge. There was a bayonet of his that hadn’t been destroyed because the family saw it as Civil War memorabilia and thought it was worth money. However, due to the scandal behind it, no one would take it. Sam and Dean located the antique weapon and had just thrown it into an incinerator when Dean roared in pain and fell to his knees.

“AAHHH! SONOFABITCH!” He panted, suddenly in a panic. “SAM!”

At first, Sam couldn’t see what was bringing his big brother to tears. There was a deep gash that appeared across his back, slicing through the skin as if a razor was being used. Then the General phased into focus standing behind Dean, swinging his arm in a ferocious arc. He manifested with a sharp, gleaming version of his bayonet and was using it with intent to kill.

Another grisly gash, more screams from Dean.

“Not my brother, you evil sonofabitch! You go to Hell!” Sam shot the evil bastard full of rock salt and he vanished just long enough for the rusted steel to begin to melt. By the time he reappeared, he was morphing into red hot embers and crumbling into a pile of ash.

Dean’s pained groans became whimpers as he struggled to stay conscious and not go into shock. “Sammy?” he weakly called for his little brother, his vision beginning to white out.

“Shit… it’s ok. You’re ok, Dean. I got you. Just stay with me,” Sam said as he heaved him to his feet, slinging Dean’s arm over his shoulders to support his weight. He rushed them out to the Impala and helped Dean lie across the back seat so he wouldn’t be leaning on his injuries.

Sam focused on keeping Dean talking -as opposed to panicking- all the way back to the motel they had found when they arrived in town. He was able to get Dean inside the room and down on the bed before the man gave in to his pain and passed out. Sam checked his vitals to make sure his pulse was strong and he was breathing. Then he made sure Dean was as comfortable as he could be, ripping the rest of his tattered shirt away from his back, and soaking some towels in cold water to drape them over Dean’s back.

He went to take a quick shower. He wanted to make sure he was clean and as calm as possible before even trying to check Dean’s wounds. It took Sam all of two minutes to wash, rinse, dry off, and throw on a loose t-shirt and sweats.

He grabbed their med kit and got to work cleaning Dean’s wounds. The gashes were long and diagonal across the center of his back. Thankfully, they weren’t so deep that Sam would have needed to bring Dean to a hospital. He would need some stitches and a few butterfly bandages, and he would have to keep Dean still for a while so hunting was out of the question for the next few weeks.

He started with antiseptic, and Dean stirred. He knew if he’d waited for him to wake up this would have been much worse. They didn’t have anything resembling a local anesthetic, so this was as close as Dean would get to numb.

Sam couldn’t believe how easy it was to fall back into his triage training. He was quick, steady, and precise. His stitches were clean, and it looked like there wouldn’t be much scarring. To help his nerves, he began mindless rambling; he was saying things he would have kept to himself had Dean been awake. He got one cut stitched, bandaged, and covered and was halfway through the second when Dean started to regain consciousness.

… “Not wanting to be a hunter forever didn’t mean I wanted to be away from you, Dean. I have always wanted you, in _every_ way, and after nearly losing you I just can’t contain or avoid it anymore. I—”

“Mhm, S’mmy, wha’ happ’n?” Dean slurred. He tried to move and grunted in pain. Sam pressed him back to the mattress with a gentle, yet firm palm between this shoulder blades.

“Shh, Dean I’m here. The General tried to take some slices out of you. I’m almost finished patching you up. You gotta try to relax and stay still.”

Dean felt the warmth radiating from his brother’s palm and it settled him, nearly soothing all the pain he was feeling. He could still feel the stitches Sam was finishing, and rather than focus on that, he latched onto what he heard while Sam was talking. He thought he’d been dreaming, but as he slowly came to, he realized that Sam had really been speaking.

He could hardly believe what he heard. Sam had feelings for him too! He wasn’t a complete monster for feeling what he felt. And even after he’d woken up, Sam was still rambling on about it.

“I hope you don’t decide to dump me for this. Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I know this might not be the time, but really, there is no right time for something like this.” Sam tied off his last stitch and applied the last few butterfly bandages. “I’m sorry for tearing our family apart. It ripped my heart out to leave you. There were nights when I missed you, needed you so bad. When Jess came along, it was like she was the culturally acceptable version of you, and you know what? I still felt like I was betraying you. Then the visions started, and I thought it was just guilt messing with me.”

“Sam,” Dean started, much clearer than before, “I’mma need some Hunter’s Helper to try to process all this if you keep ramblin’ on like Speedy Gonzales.”

Sam froze.

“C’mon Sammy, don’t geek out on me now. I’m in a crapload of pain and I really don’t wanna pass out again when the story was just getting’ good.” With a decent amount of effort, he moved the arm at his side over and laid his hand on Sam’s knee. When he made that tactile contact with his younger brother and found him solid, real, and warm, he slowly turned his head in that direction, facing him. “Look, you got nothin’ to worry about Sam, I’m obviously not going anywhere for a while like this.”

“B-but Dean, I… uh, yeah, okay.” As much as he wanted to stay rooted to that spot under Dean’s grip, alive and strong, he definitely wasn’t going to keep Dean suffering. He found the whiskey they had stashed and brought his brother the bottle.

“Alright,” he sighed out, stiffly maneuvering to his side and leaning on an elbow as he took a long swig. Sam watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed a few times. He made a face as he gritted out, “Grab a glass, c’mere, listen up. This is the only time I’ll sound this chick-flicky.”

Sam took a second to consider, then skipped the glass and went directly to Dean. He sat in front of his brother with his back against the headboard, took hold of the bottle, and took a few burning swallows from it himself. He grimaced and cleared his throat, feeling the liquor spread fire through his veins. He looked down at his hands, still stained with Dean’s blood, and listened.

“I felt the loss of you like a sledgehammer to the gut when you left. I didn’t know how that would affect me when I saw you again. I thought I was nuts, or sick. I even blamed it on losing Dad. But even after we found him, it still felt like something was missing. Then, when I almost died in that hospital, I could feel you fighting for me. I don’t remember much of the time I was out, but I do remember that. My soul searching in pitch black darkness for yours.”

Exhaustion was slowly creeping up on them, Sam was inching ever lower onto the mattress. He made sure he was paying attention, though, because he’d never heard Dean open up like this. Meanwhile, Dean was gradually getting closer to Sam, until he laid his head on his chest.

“I figured out how gone I was for you the moment I saw you again at Stanford, but I knew I couldn’t keep it all hidden from you anymore when I started breathing again the day we lost Dad. I just didn’t know how to bring it up. You are everything to me, Sam.”

Sam looked down at the top of Dean’s head and ran tentative fingers through his short, mussed spikes. “I guess this crazy life helped us find each other, huh?”

Finally, Dean’s breathing evened out signaling he’d drifted off.

 

*****

 

Sam woke up enveloped in everything Dean. From his scent to his head still and heavy on Sam’s chest. From the older man’s hand above his heart to the thick-muscled thigh draped across his own. And one last - but perhaps most resounding - thing. Suddenly, Sam felt like he was on fire. Partly a blush, but mainly just recalling the events of the previous night.

He gasped at the immediate sensation of arousal that overcame him. He wasn’t sure if he should try to move or just keep still because surely if Dean were awake, he’d be making some stupid, cocky quip about-

“Mmm, ‘s that a gun in your pocket, Sammy?” There he was, right on cue. Stupid, crooked grin and all.

“Ha-ha, funny man, you’re one to talk.”

“What? This? Well, I’d blame it on the morning, but I think it’s a bit leftover from last night.”

“Dude no,” said Sam, stifling a laugh.

“Dude, _yes_ so I suggest you quit over-thinking and act on it.”

Sam smiled that full-dimpled smile that Dean loved to see and tilted his head toward him as he tipped Dean’s head up. The moment their lips met Sam wanted more. He would always want more. He wanted to turn Dean over and fit himself between those bowed legs he was always checking out. He wanted to explore every inch of Dean’s body as if he’d never seen it before.

As Dean trailed kisses and bites down the long expanse of his neck, Sam grasped Dean’s leg and was close to turning him over when he remembered that he’d stitched his big brother up just hours ago.

“Ah, damn, Dean your stitches,” he argued even as Dean was sliding Sam further down the bed and maneuvering to straddle him.

“Hey, Sammy it’s ok. You did a real good job on them. I promise to let you do all the work,” he said as he was sliding his hands across Sam’s skin under his t-shirt. Sam’s head fell back into the pillow, stopping any argument he had.

Lying on his back, Sam looked up at Dean and admired just how hot he was. Bruised up, hair pointing in multiple directions, and lips, freckles, and eyes a bright contrast against his fair skin, he’d become obsessed with it all. Then, it finally dawned on him that his big brother had no shirt. He reached out and let his hands roam.

Within moments, Sam was back in control. He had Dean squirming above him. Together, they started moving their hips and got a slow, rocking rhythm. As the temperature rose between them, Dean pushed Sam’s t-shirt up and tugged it off.

Sam brought his hands up Dean’s thighs, gripping his hips as Dean came down and brought their torsos, and their mouths, together. The skin-to-skin contact drove them wild. Their nerve endings were ablaze. Every tactile sensation, emotion, everything was so intense after they’d each held back for so long. It didn’t take long for the two to reach the crest of the wave they were riding and just coast along with it, holding onto each other for fear of floating away.

 

*****

 

When the intensity subsided and their breaths were steady between them, Sam propped up the pillows and leaned against the headboard. He laxly wrapped himself around Dean for a while, hand resting over his rhythmically beating heart, appreciating his warm weight. He was very careful not to jostle his wounds. “So, what happens now?”

Like a cat that’d had its fill of catnip, Dean languidly stretched despite the pull in his stitches and then gingerly settled back into the soothing heat of Sam’s body. He took a deep breath, which was more music to Sam’s ears than any of the noises Dean would deny having made moments ago. He slowly said, “First, we get cleaned up… Then we just take it one day at a time. You and me, come whatever.”

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Art Description: Sam and Dean have reunited to search for their father. In the scene, Sam and Dean are holed up in an abandoned house. Sam reviews lore by candlelight while Dean takes a break from poring over Dad’s journal.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Rating for Art: G  
> Maximum Rating for Story: PG-13  
> Squicks (Hard No’s): Weecest, Underage, Dubcon, Noncon.
> 
> This is my second fic for the Wincest Reverse Bang 2019. That's right, I did 2! Very, very glad I got the opportunity to grab this art prompt and run with it. This is honestly a lot of new territory for me. Second year participating in a Reverse Bang, having more than one fic due, and writing this one up in record time for myself. My partner, thank you for making this a great experience! My beta readers: [J1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessie_cristo/pseuds/jessie_cristo), [J2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerzcaligrl/pseuds/Jerzcaligrl), and [J3](https://www.wattpad.com/user/missyswife37), and my [T-Bird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/J2_Girlz/pseuds/J2_Girlz), I love you all and appreciate how much you saved my ass!


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